Sweet Success
by Shiawase Vampire
Summary: On the search for something to fill his stomach, Kerochan finds himself trapped on top of the fridge when his fifteen year old mistress comes home...with the brat in tow.  Will he succeed in sniping a snack before dinner?


**Sweet Success**

"Sakura-chan!" called the small yellow flying stuffed animal. He wouldn't consider himself a stuffed animal—actually, he grew immediately irate and threw a temper tantrum when the brat called him as such. Impatiently, he flew through the house, checking every room in the upstairs, but to no avail. He pouted and hovered in mid-air, contemplating going downstairs.

He had made the mistake of falling asleep sometime after lunch—which consisted of a nice thick slice of strawberry cake with a sweet icing that just clung to his lips—and didn't wake until just five minute before. The other guardian was nowhere in sight, much to his dismay, so he wagered that his mistress must either be out with friends—and hopefully _not_ the brat—or out with her brother and father.

Heavily, he sighed, sinking just a bit in the air. What to do? He had exhausted his cache of videogames, and if he had to play them again for the sixteen-billionth time, he was going to go crazy! He had hoped to conjole his mistress into buying him a new one, or two, or five, to occupy his time while she was at school, cram school, and whatever else she did now that she was fifteen.

"Sakura-chaaan!" he whined pitifully, stomach giving a soft growl.

From his point in the hall, he gave the stairs a long, calculating stare. No one had heard him. No one had come bounding up the stairs to see what the noise was all about.

Unfortunately, this meant that he was indeed alone. The thought saddened him greatly and he sank fully to the ground, landing with a soft thump. But his stomach gave another growl and the little mischievous imp that occasionally ran rampant in his mind came to life. A sneaky grin grew across his face, and his wings gave him a push. He was airborne again, flying down the stairs.

His face fell when he saw the note in the kitchen.

_Don't you even _think_ of touching these! You can wait for dinner!_

Somewhere a clock chimed the hour—had he really been asleep for almost five hours? No wonder his stomach was making so much noise.

The sweets beckoned to him, his tongue salivating just looking at them. If he took just a little, tiny, eensy weensy piece, no one would notice. Just a minuscule, insignificant bit that wouldn't be missed by anyone and welcomed wholeheartedly by his stomach no matter the size. He crept slowly towards a plate of cookies left out just for him, but not really, his body tense. Senses finely tuned, he kept his ears open for any bit of movement—perhaps it was a trap!—from both inside and outside. He couldn't help but wonder if his mistress' brother had written the note. She wouldn't be that mean with him...

Growling stomachs can be a bane, and for several reasons. They often signaled that they needed to be filled else it would start eating itself and make its owner very unpleasant, uncomfortable, and obviously sick. It can also make a lot of noise. So when his stomach gave a rather loud growl, it was at that exact moment that the front door opened. His paw was just touching the soft pink frosting when he heard voices. Inside his head, he swore as he flew up on top of the fridge and lay low.

"What would you like to drink, Syaoran-kun?" asked his mistress, voice chipper and sweetly polite as it had ever been.

"Surprise me," came the answer from a deeper voiced boy. He had many a hearty laugh at the boy's expense when his voice started to deepen, and consequently crack whenever he was flustered or talking in normal conversation. Fondly he recalled an argument they had over nothing in particular—they argued as a pastime now—and the boy's voice cracked so badly, he ran off, his face red, while he fell to the ground guffawing and gasping for breath. It was worth the mighty look he got from his mistress.

He hazarded a glance over the top of the fridge and silently cursed to himself when he saw the brat sitting down at the dining room table, his mistress puttering around with her back to the fridge. Silently, he crept back until he could see nothing but the top half of the cabinets across the way.

He hoped his stomach wouldn't give away his position.

After waiting patiently for half a minute, he began to grow bored and slumped against the top of the fridge; wings, body, and tail resting forlornly. All he wanted was a nice fat piece of cake or pile of cookies! Was that too much to ask?

"Thanks!" the brat said happily. There was a sound of a chair sliding back and soft slurping. "Wait, where's the stuffed animal?"

His eye began to twitch.

"Hoe? I'm not sure…" she said softly. "Perhaps Kero-chan is playing something upstairs?"

"Hmm…maybe. It's just really quiet, and not hearing that stuffed animal makes me wonder what he's up to…"

Right on cue, his stomach growled loudly, and almost painfully. He almost gasped, clapping his paws over his mouth and silently yelling at his stomach.

"Syaoran-kun, are you hungry?" she asked suddenly. She must have thought the growl came from the brat. "I can make us some dinner."

The brat laughed. "How about I try making something for a change? You always make me everything. I want to do something for Sakura-chan for once."

He could almost envision his mistress' face begin to blush. She blushed way too easily.

"Uh, uh, sure!" she said brightly. "All the ingredients for the stew are in the fridge.

The fridge! Crap! He hoped the brat wasn't tall enough that he could see over the top of it, and consequently see _him_. He shut his eyes tight, footsteps coming from the dining room and into the kitchen. The fridge door opened, things shifting and scraping along the inner shelves, and then the door was shut. He hadn't been seen! Now all he had to do was wait for both of their backs to be turned, then he could swoop down and grab a cookie before flying back up the stairs to his mistress' room.

Ten minutes later, or an eternity later, it seemed, he hazarded another glance over the edge of the fridge. His mistress was resting back against the counter, a gentle smile on her face as she watched the brat struggle around the kitchen. She giggled delightedly, and walked over to help him cut the carrots more efficiently. He could almost risk the trip, but at what cost? He might miss and then the effort would have all been for nothing! It was a risk he wasn't willing to take. Not yet, anyway. He had to wait for just the right time…

"Here, let me see that, Syaoran-kun."

"I'm doing fine," the brat grumbled, the knife hitting the cutting board at an unsteady pace.

"It won't take me long to do it—oh! The water's boiling!"

"It is? Darn it!" There was a scuffle of shifting feet, and he watched his mistress casually take up the discarded knife and began cutting up the half-chopped carrot.

"Sakura…" the brat said with a protesting tone.

"It's fine!" she said, turning her head to grin at him, her hands masterfully slicing the carrot up. "This way, you can finish everything else. I can cut up anything else while you watch the pot."

"Uh, Sakura…"

"Hm?" Then she gasped, clutching a hand to her lips. He watched fervently, wishing that he could help, but he knew there was nothing to do. It was just a simple cut.

"Sakura!"

"It's…it's okay…" she said, her voice shaky. "I just wasn't paying attention."

"You could have really hurt yourself…"

"I just sliced myself. The cut's not too deep!"

The brat gave her a smile, his expression softening. He took her hand away and kissed her injured finger delicately. His mistress blushed and with her other hand, stroked his cheek in return.

"As long as you're all right…"

He closed his eyes out of respect for his mistress when the two leaned forward for a kiss. Though they had made their declarations of love for each other five years ago, it still was taking him a long time to get used to the idea of her with him.

But when he opened his eyes again, he saw nothing but love and compassion in each of their eyes for the other. It made him smile, his own heart softening a bit for the brat.

Wait, why was he admiring this display? It was the perfect time for him to take his chance! They were both distracted now!

Silently he leapt into the air and swooped down onto the counter, landing next to the plate of cookies. Madly, he stuffed a few into his mouth; his cheeks puffed out with cookie, and grabbed a few in each paw.

Before he took off again, he glanced up and saw the brat's eyes fall on him, his expression mixed between horror, embarrassment, and confusion. He would have gasped, had his mouth not been filled with food. Quickly, he took off again, zooming away.

"What's wrong?" his mistress asked.

"Oh, nothing. Thought I saw a monster."

"Hoe?"

The brat chuckled. "I'm just joking."

The two of them began to laugh, the sounds of food being prepared once again filling the house. Up on the top of the stairs he sat, gulping down his mouthful of cookies. It had been a close call, but he was victorious. His stomach certainly was happy.

He just hoped the brat wouldn't tell her about his pre-dinner snack.


End file.
